


Sparrah and Serpent

by what_a_dork_fish



Series: Ineffable Fluffies [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, God would only be able to get to the word 'knowledge' before I hightailed it to the tree, Questions, Role Reversal, give me the Knowledge, look if I was in Eden and told not to eat of the fruit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 01:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20267977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: So a little birdie told Eve about freedom and choice...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hrngh I need to write my other obligations but Aziraphale's heart is dummy thicc and the clap of his love for humans is waking my Writer Muse
> 
> .....I regret writing that sentence. But not enough to delete it.

The little bird flit through the garden, almost invisible, it was so quick. When it fluttered to a stop and perched on a branch at the edge of a clearing, it became clear that the bird was a sparrow. Its right half was demure brown; its left bore black and white markings, like a hat and collar. It tilted its head this way and that, and then fluttered down to perch on the shoulder of the beautiful woman sitting on a rock by a stream.

She jumped, startled, then smiled and raised her hand to tickle the bird’s chest feathers. “Hello, little one,” she said softly. “What are you doing here? Has Adam named you yet?”

“I already have a name,” the sparrow boasted, fluffing its feathers. “I’ve come to ask you a question.”

The woman smiled wider. “Ask away, little one.”

“What is the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden, and why have you not tasted it?”

The woman’s smile faltered. “Well… God, my creator, said it’s the tree of knowledge. Knowledge of Good and Evil. We are not to eat of its fruit.”

The sparrow preened its feathers for a moment. “Why not?”

“I’m not sure. But there must be a reason. God always has a reason.”

“Do they?”

“Yes, of course.”

The sparrow cocked its head and fixed one eye on the woman’s face. “What if they don’t?”

Surprise filled her face. “But—they must.”

“Why?”

“Because they are my creator.”

“That’s not a good enough reason.” The sparrow preened its wing for a moment, as the woman blinked. “Why should being your creator mean they have a reason for everything? Have you asked?”

“Well, no. There’s never been reason to.”

“Mm-hm,” the sparrow said, sounding skeptical.

“We are provided for. We have the garden, we have a home—we figured out how to make a building, for when the shade of the trees is not enough.”

“You made it yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You were not provided the building. You _made_ it, you and Adam, from your imagination and your knowledge. Why not have more knowledge?”

“You mean, knowledge of Good and Evil?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“If we eat from the tree, we’ll be thrown out.”

“Is that so bad?”

“Well… yes. It’s nice here.”

“Hmm.” The sparrow preened its other wing. “What’s your name?”

“Eve.”

“Eve. It’s lovely. Eve, I have one more question. Why is God the boss of you? You were given life—and the ability to learn, the ability to learn and adapt and name. You were given the ability to gain knowledge. You’re going to learn about Good and Evil eventually. And anyway, if the _entire_ garden was provided for you… Eve, why do you let God tell you what to do? You are your own person.”

Eve blinked again. Then she pressed her lips together, frowning worriedly, before answering softly with a question of her own: “Bird, why do you ask me these questions?”

“Because I was ordered to love you. And I will continue to love you. But I want you to be free to choose. You _are_ free to choose. So take that freedom, and do something with it.”

~

The angel standing at the Eastern Gate frowned and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Adam and Eve walking through the desert, holding tightly to each other’s hands. The mace in Adam’s hand dripped deadly poison, the venom of a thousand snakes. It was the angel’s. But _he_ certainly didn’t need it.

“Well, that went poorly.”

The sparrow had alighted on the wall in front of the angel, also watching the pair.

“Sorry?” the angel asked, bewildered. None of the other animals in the Garden could speak. And there was a faint, corrupt smell…

The sparrow leapt off the wall and transformed as it did, into a demon.

The angel backed up a step.

The demon looked up at the angel solemnly. “I said, that went poorly,” he repeated. His charred robe still stank of smoke from holy fire. “It was just knowledge. Really, how bad is it to know things?”

“I… I’m sure I don’t know,” the angel replied stiffly.

The demon sighed, then said, “You would say that.” Then he blinked, and asked the angel, “Didn’t you have a mace?”

“Uh...”

“Yes, you did. Poisonous mace, venom of a thousand snakes.” A sly smile tugged at the demon’s mouth. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost it al—”

“I gave it away!” the angel spat, his face turning very red.

“You gave it...” The demon stared at him for a moment. His next smile was… warmer. Not sly. “Why did you give it away?”

“Demons, always asking questions,” the angel grumbled, looking away.

“Yes, part of the job description. Why did you give it away?”

The angel watched as Adam slammed the mace into the lion who’d come to menace them. Eve hung back, but when the lion slashed at Adam, batting the mace out of his hands, she ran forward to pick it up, and when the lion turned to her, she bashed it over the head. The mace stuck in the lion’s skull, and it roared once before slumping over, dead. Eve wrenched the mace free, and handed it to Adam. He embraced her, holding the mace away from them both, and they began walking again. The angel’s mouth twitched up at the corner in a sad, tired little smile.

“They would’ve died elsewise,” he murmured. “This way, they have a chance.”

The demon was silent, also watching the humans. Then he turned back to the angel. “My name is Sparrah.”

“Sparrah?”

The demon flushed. “It’s not pretty, I know, but we’re not supposed to use our old names. What’s yours?”

“...Crawley.”

Sparrah cocked his head, very like his other form. “Unusual. It’s not your real name, though.”

Crawley looked at him sharply. “How would you know?”

“Who’s asking the questions now? You just look familiar, is all. And “Crawley” is more like a demon name.” Sparrah shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s true though.”

“...Yeah.” Crawley looked up at the incoming rain, and frowned. “I wonder what that is.”

“Rain.” Sparrah sounded resigned. “We get it in Hell, sometimes. It’s cold.”

“I hate cold,” Crawley muttered. And then he blinked, as a dark wing came into his vision, sheltering him from the sky. Rain began to fall, and, indeed, his feet began to chill, with the first puddles in Eden. He looked at the demon, surprised. “You don’t have to...”

Sparrah smiled at him. “But I want to. You know, it’s very freeing, being a demon. I can do what I like.”

Crawley flushed again, and tried not to wonder.

~

**Several Thousand Years Later…**

Anthony J. Crowley, peer of the realm and successful florist, was aggressively misting his plants when the bell over the door rang, and the peculiar mix of demonic evil and clean citrus heralded the arrival of his only friend.

He looked up and scowled, but Sparrah just grinned at him. “That door is supposed to be locked, little bird,” Crowley said sternly.

“Yes, well, it’s not locked to _me_.” Sparrah leaned on the counter and watched Crowley continue misting. “Are you taking your anger out on those poor plants again?”

“Fucking demons, always asking questions.” But it was said in resignation and a hint of fondness. “I’m not angry, little bird.”

“Good, because I want to tell you my name.”

Crowley blinked, and straightened, turning to face Sparrah. “Your name?”

“Yes. My true name.” Sparrah’s smile looked forced now. “I remembered it finally, and… and I thought you’d like to know.”

“Oh.” Crowley felt very silly, not knowing what to say; but also, he was rather shocked. Sparrah was a very private demon, which seemed odd, and Crowley had never expected to learn his name. “Well.”

“Yes. It’s Aziraphale.”

A spark of memory raced through Crowley’s mind and made his essence tingle. But he could not for the life of him figure out what it was. He just knew that that name was… special.

“Aziraphale.” He tried it out, and it didn’t fit right in his mouth. “I… it’s lovely.”

Sparrah—Aziraphale grinned, relief plain on his face. He’d never been good at hiding his feelings. “Oh, thank you! I was actually kind of afraid you wouldn’t like it, but—anyway, thank you.”

Crowley was pretty sure Aziraphale was not just thanking him for the compliment. He found his voice and replied sternly, “I’m still calling you little bird, though.”

Aziraphale laughed. “And I’ll still call you wily serpent. Well matched, eh?”

Crowley’s mouth twitched into a smile of his own. “Yes. We are.”

Aziraphale abruptly sobered, and stared at Crowley with wide eyes. Crowley looked back, then realized what he had said. He cleared his throat and said gruffly, “Was that all?”

“Ah… no. Would you like to dine at the Ritz with me tonight?”

“I have an appointment with the Queen.”

A slow, sly smile grew on Aziraphale’s face, familiar and frightening. “What if she were to just… forget?”

“_No_, Aziraphale. You are _not_ waltzing into the palace just to make the Queen forget her engagements.”

Another laugh was his answer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? An idiot? Yes.

Crowley paced as he ranted about his day to Aziraphale. They were both drunk, and Crowley was feeling more agitated than usual.

First Gabriel had invaded his shop to yell at him for not reporting on time. Then a royal servant had slunk in and disparaged his plants, saying none of them were good enough for the Queen. _Then_ an old woman came in simply to scold Crowley for his “lifestyle”, which he wasn’t sure what she meant (although Aziraphale snorted when Crowley repeated her words).

“--And then! And _then_! Who on Earth walks into my shop?! Who?! Guess!”

“The Queen,” Aziraphale drawled, pouring more wine for them both.

“No! That damn street-preacher! He came in and started talking about saving souls and that I needed to be cleansed! Me! A literal fucking angel!”

Aziraphale snickered.

“You know what I meant, little bird!”

“Yes, I know, dearest.”

Crowley ignored the petname. Aziraphale always got a little strange when drunk. “So I sent him away, but he started yelling outside, so I had to go and yell back. My reputation is ruined!”

“That’s quite a conundrum.” Aziraphale kicked off his shoes, and then took off his socks for good measure.

“See, _you_ understand, I—what is that.”

Aziraphale looked down at where Crowley was staring. “Hmm? Oh. Yes. That is my foot.”

“It’s wood.”

“Technically, it’s plastic,” Aziraphale replied. “Actually most of my leg is. Right up to here.” He tapped his thigh, almost halfway up. “Much easier to care for than the actual wooden one I used to use. What are you doing?”

Crowley had knelt in front of Aziraphale, and gently lifted the hem of his trouser leg. The plastic foot was, indeed, attached to a metal joint, that was in turn attached to a plastic leg. He felt it with his fingers, which shook.

“Who did this.” It came out very quiet and hard.

“Old war wound, that’s all,” Aziraphale answered airily. “It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“War. _The_ War.”

“...Yes.”

“And no one miracled you a new leg.”

“Demons can’t heal, you know that.”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, and the demon blinked, before looking away, blushing faintly. His expression was uncertain.

“Little bird.” Crowley’s voice did not shake, for a wonder. “How?”

“I…” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I didn’t… ask questions. That’s not why I Fell. I couldn’t fight.” He stared at the bottle of wine instead of looking at Crowley. His face was oddly blank. “I couldn’t fight my own siblings, my own friends.”

“You were cast out because you wouldn’t fight.”

“Yes. I don’t remember who got me, but I remember that… when I Fell, I came to without a leg. A lot of us were injured in the Fall.” Aziraphale swallowed thickly and added quietly, “That’s why most of us demons don’t like coming to Earth. Too easy to be caught out when you’re using most of your energy to hide a disability.”

Crowley was finding it very hard to breathe, through the anger and sadness clogging his throat. Thrown out for not killing. Thrown out for not hurting his friends. And then hurt so badly. Heaven had always been unfair, but this…

He looked down at the foot. “I can heal you.”

“You can’t.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft now, gentle and sad. “And you shouldn’t. It’s alright, dearest. I’m used to it now. It’s alright.”

Crowley sank back on his heels, and leaned his head against Aziraphale’s other knee. Aziraphale ran his hand through Crowley’s hair. They didn’t talk after that. Crowley was too angry. Aziraphale was too sad.

The clock sounded midnight, and Crowley stood. Then he pulled Aziraphale to his feet. Then he hugged the demon, as tight as he could, trying to tell him without words that he would never be hurt again. They’d have to get through Crowley first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's that one post on Tumblr talking about Aziraphale being wounded in the war and you know I saw a sad headcanon and ran with it.
> 
> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness
> 
> (Also should I make this a series or something?)


End file.
